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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000061">oh, what a shame.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/red__moon/pseuds/red__moon'>red__moon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>brief inquiries. [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 1975 (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blind Date, F/M, Mistaken Identity, One Shot, Short One Shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:34:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/red__moon/pseuds/red__moon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two blind dates and some crossed wires make for some fortuitous confusion.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matthew Healy/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>brief inquiries. [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>oh, what a shame.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Responding to a prompt: We're both meant to be going on blind dates with other people but we sat down at the wrong table and got our hopes up.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'Brown, curly hair. Green eyes. Snappy dresser... that's fucking subjective, fuck,' I mutter under my breath. The cab driver pulls away from the kerb, leaving me to the biting wind, the entrance to Tapas Brindisa, and my blind date. I regret ever agreeing to this, but Nina can be so persuasive, particularly when I'm two vodkas deep and she's got an idea into her head.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p><em>'There's this guy, oh, what's his name... Dylan. Absolutely gorgeous. If I wasn't locked down, I would, you know what I mean? I </em>would<em> go there. You need to meet him.' Nina brandished her wine glass dangerously close to my coat, and I snatched it away, bundling it to the other side of my seat. 'I love Jamie. But before him, I used to go for dark-haired guys all the time. He's just the blonde exception, you know?'</em></p>
<p>
  <em>'What does he do? What's his vibe?' I narrowed my eyes, drinking deeply from my own glass. God, I was a sad individual. Blind dates were so 2005.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'Writer. Bit of a lost soul, puppy-dog eyes type. You'd love it, you feel like a saviour and pull him out of his depression.'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'I don't think that's how depression works, Nina.'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'Whatever. You like the angsty, emotional ones, right?'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'I don't want my record to dictate my future options,' I grumbled. 'Codependency is not sexy.'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'It doesn't even have to be relationship material. He could be a bit of fun!' She looked at me pointedly, sipping at her wine suggestively.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'Sure, he sounds like a barrel of laughs,' I replied drily.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'Let me set you up. Will you let me?'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'Oh, go on then. You're not free this weekend, are you?'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'Sorry babe, Jamie's dad's birthday.'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>'In that case, I'm free. See if this Dylan guy is.'</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>~</em>
</p>
<p>Nina messaged me earlier in the evening to tell me to wear a skirt, and like a fool, I'd complied. The goosebumps on my thighs are not thanking me, but at least the restaurant is emanating warmth, so I slip inside the door quickly, scanning the room. <em>There</em> - a head of brown curls and dark suit, facing away from me. The guy is sat on his own, a notebook in front of him, and he's jotting something down - typical, writers can't let you forget their identity. <em>Don't stereotype, Di. People can surprise you. </em>But people rarely surprised me. I doubted this one would either.</p>
<p>'Hey.' I pull out the chair opposite him. 'Hope you haven't been waiting long, I'm usually good with timings.' I extend a hand, but he blinks at me for a moment before getting to his feet and leaning in to kiss my cheek. I don't have a problem with this, because Nina was right. He's absolutely gorgeous, his brown curls forming neat ringlets that frame his brow; he swipes them out the way as he sits back down.</p>
<p>'No, it's fine! I just got here. I have no fucking clue what's good on the menu... you wanna order?'</p>
<p>He seems perky. Definitely not the self-serious individual I expected. I peer at the small clipboard in front of me. 'Um... I feel like the charcuterie board is a safe bet.'</p>
<p>'Nice...' He snaps the notebook closed, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket. My curiosity gets the better of me.</p>
<p>'What were you writing?'</p>
<p>'Just a funny line that occurred to me. Lyrics are more interesting when they're unforced.'</p>
<p>'Lyrics?' I frowned. 'You're musical?'</p>
<p>He bursts out laughing. It's quite a pleasing sound. 'Damn, I knew this was a blind date but I thought we'd be told more about each other.'</p>
<p>'Well, I'm already impressed,' I grinned. 'All I was told is that you're a writer.'</p>
<p>'<em>Really? </em>That's a nice way of putting it. A bit of an exaggeration, maybe. And you're a dancer?'</p>
<p>'What? No - I do graphic design, freelance.'</p>
<p>'That's funny... I could have sworn George said...'</p>
<p>I'm distracted, suddenly, by the man who's just walked in the door and said my full name to the waiter. 'Is Diana Farrell here? I think it's her reservation...' He's in a long coat, the collar turned up against the wind, and he's got dark, curly hair, a little shorter than the man in front of me now. My gaze swivels back to him. <em>Green eyes. </em>Oh, <em>shit. </em>This guy's eyes are brown, very pretty but very, very <em>brown</em>.</p>
<p>'I think there's been a mistake,' I begin.</p>
<p>'You <em>are</em> Tara, right?' He asks, clearly bemused.</p>
<p>'No! You're not Dylan, are you?'</p>
<p>'I'm Matty. Shit.'</p>
<p>I have to flag down this other guy now, the real Dylan. I'm reluctant, but I can't leave him hanging. 'I'm so sorry,' I whisper to Matty, and stand up to wave.</p>
<p>'Nice meeting you,' he says quietly, and he looks somewhat disappointed too, which is strangely gratifying. This Tara girl must be pretty late then, it seems.</p>
<p>Dylan spots me, and weaves between the tables on his way over. 'Hi there, so sorry I'm late.' He has a pompous, grating voice, and doesn't sound very sorry at all. I'm slightly biased, of course, because he's also a beta version of Matty, quite a bit taller and thin in a spidery, creepy way. 'God, Nina was right. You're stunning.'</p>
<p>I can feel the warmth of embarrassment in my cheeks. In my peripheral vision, I can see Matty watching us. A waiter appears and asks if we want to see the wine list.</p>
<p>'No,' Dylan waves a hand airily. 'We'll have the Semillon, thanks.' I clear my throat, my heart sinking. I'm a red wine drinker. He hasn't even checked. 'Hope that's not too presumptuous of me, I've been doing tastings lately and the Semillon here is a lovely, fresh one. Quite zesty.'</p>
<p>Matty coughs, but it sounds suspiciously like a snort, and takes a sip of his water. It doesn't escape me when the waiter brings him his bottle of Pinot Noir. Meanwhile, I can't believe Nina would 'go there' with this guy, if it weren't for Jamie. I can barely get a word in edgeways as he tells me about his current novel pitch. The fact that he's the one doing the talking leaves me free to observe when a glamorous, tall girl with long, dark hair takes the seat opposite Matty's. I want to curl up and die.</p>
<p>I try to focus on Dylan, leaving behind my brief fantasy of continuing the date with Matty. I can't eavesdrop on his conversation without entirely clocking out, which annoys me. I don't know why I'm so curious to know how <em>his</em> date is going. Selfishly, I hope it's as bad as mine.</p>
<p>'So my agent called and told me it's a fantastic narrative but the exposition needs fleshing out, which I think is a bit of cheek, if I'm honest. Anyway, I'm just going to pop to the bathroom, be right back.' Dylan scrapes his chair back and goes off in search of the loos, leaving me free to listen into the adjacent table.</p>
<p>The dark-haired girl, who I assume is Tara, is pushing a piece of squid around her plate with her fork in a disinterested fashion. 'I don't really like Spanish food,' she sighs.</p>
<p>'Oh, erm... do you like the wine?' Matty asks, his gaze darting to meet mine and back again.</p>
<p>'Yeah, yeah, it's lovely. So you, um... you don't get stage fright then?'</p>
<p>'Generally speaking, not any more.' He looks at her oddly. 'I'd be kind of fucked otherwise. You can't think about ten thousand people when you're at the O2, you know?'</p>
<p>'Wow,' she sounds dazed; she might even be high. It's a shame if she is, even I have to admit. 'Yeah, I don't get stage fright either.'</p>
<p>The conversation is dry as a bone but I find that I'm not getting much satisfaction from my wish coming true. Dylan comes back from the loos at last, and I'm still acutely aware that he's asked me a grand total of one question this evening. That's the last time I let Nina set me up.</p>
<p>Just as I'm finishing my main course and the wine is in danger of running dry, Matty stands up abruptly. 'Shit, I'm really sorry... I've had an emergency at home, my flatmate is really sick. I think I have to rush back.' I suppress a laugh. <em>Smooth.</em> Tara flicks her hair over her shoulder blithely, apparently unconcerned.</p>
<p>'Oh, that's okay. Mind if I finish the wine?'</p>
<p>'Not at all... I'll settle up, okay? Lovely to meet you.' Still gentlemanly even when lying through his teeth, I see. Dylan clears his throat, having noticed my attention has wandered, but Matty turns to me suddenly, and I'm caught off guard. 'Sorry, I think you've dropped this.' He picks a napkin off the floor and places it under my side plate, catching my eye with a small smile.</p>
<p>'Thanks,' I stutter, raising my eyebrows at Dylan as if to say <em>isn't that nice?</em></p>
<p>'Hmm... shall we do dessert?' He continues, barely pausing to consider the saga that's unfolded in our vicinity. It's quite unbelievable how much he can pack away, for such a beanpole.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Dylan tries to call a cab for me, but I make up some bluster about wanting to get the bus and read for a bit. He nods approvingly at this, although he seems to find the idea of public transport distasteful. As soon as he's safely in a car and pulling away down Great Eastern Street, I pull the napkin from my pocket and unfold it carefully.</p>
<p>
  <em>I got my hopes up - M</em>
</p>
<p>Matty had scribbled a number below his note, and I dial it now. He picks up after just two rings.</p>
<p>'Hello?'</p>
<p>'Hey. It's Diana, your non-date.'</p>
<p>'Oh! Great. I mean, I'm glad you called. I guess yours didn't go so well either?'</p>
<p>'No, an absolute bore. I've shaken him off now.'</p>
<p>'Listen, it's only ten. I'm actually just around the corner. Do you want after-dinner drinks? I think we can improve upon the conversations we've both had this evening.'</p>
<p>I can feel a stupid grin on my face. 'Yeah, I think so. You tell me where?'</p>
<p>Matty gives me the name of a bar nearby, only a few minutes' walk. It's a cosy, if expensive place, and I find him in a chair in the corner, his notebook on his lap again. He puts it away hurriedly when he sees me. 'You know, all I was told about the girl was that she had long dark hair. You seemed so confident, I didn't really second-guess it. I assumed you'd had it cut recently or something.' He's referencing my chin-length bob, his eyes travelling over me quite openly for the second time that evening. I sit beside him, crossing my legs in the same direction.</p>
<p>'I got the eyes wrong. I was supposed to look for green ones, but... I definitely prefer yours,' I admit. We're both feeling the half-bottle of wine each, I think. 'Have you got a drink?'</p>
<p>'Not yet... I thought I'd see what you wanted first.' He meets my gaze mischievously. 'Now, tell me something about <em>you</em>...'</p>
<p> </p>
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